Visage of Torment
by Illitis
Summary: Chaos has spilled over The Globe. Wielding its power, Sources seek purpose for themselves. Celina has chosen to lend her gift outside the dominion of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. She dives deeply into impermissible studies of magic, but for how long will the Brotherhood allow this to continue? A collection of short stories inspired by the style of the Andrzej Sapkowski novels.
1. Chapter 1: An Uninvited Hunter, Part 1

"_Ignis."_ She hissed at the dead man splayed before her. He replied, rippling into a vivid flame. The night's cold was such that compromising her position was well worth the warmth fire provided. Fortunately, the glen she occupied was framed by a brush thick enough that it largely contained the light the corpse now generated. From outside its wooden walls, the flickering appeared faint enough to be mistaken for moonlight if one wasn't already aware of its presence.

She crouched low over the heat of his bubbling, blackened skin, trying to retain every morsel of it she could. A stench of burnt death filled the space. Despite this, she grimaced and tugged at her leather trousers.

"Ugh." Even the reek of the corpse did not mask the smell radiating from her person. She rose and peeled the soiled butcher's clothes from her skin, tossing them casually into a nearby patch of grass. Her bare flesh shimmered with fire, sweat, and blood. She basked for a moment in the sensation: the cold air's caress, the freedom of her nakedness. She then drew a deep breath, stood very still, and waited. The unmistakable sound of water soon crackled in her ears. She made for the alchemist's satchel and sword which she had previously draped over a nearby tree. The redwood had fallen into the glade at some point, possibly from weather or fire. She couldn't be sure. From the dangling satchel, she withdrew a blue kerchief and pursued the trickling sound of her anticipated bath.

A trickle the water truly was. The pitiful run was barely visible between the bed of stones and mud on the forest floor. _This was a river once._ She knelt and touched the satin cloth to the stream. The water was frigid, but as necessary for her cleanliness as the fire was for her warmth. Ah, the fire... It certainly sounded tempting now. _Mnh._ She squeezed the excess liquid from the kerchief and touched the damp cloth hesitantly to the skin on her arm. Her pores painfully peaked in protest, but she continued scraping the gore from herself.

There, alone in the shade of the evening, she cleansed. The cloth wove through the three scarred rift on her side like a river in a canyon. Even after ten years, the marks had never shallowed. She often needed to bend to her opposite side to clean the deepest of places. A well of flesh on her left thigh still throbbed painfully when she swiped across it. She gritted her teeth. _That repulsive whoreson..._ She pried from within the cup of new scar tissue a chunk of someone else's bloodied meat and flicked it to the ground in disgust. The cock who had driven the rapier through her leg had suffered a lethal blow soon after their dispute, but to date, his lunatic behavior baffled her. An ambush while she was fighting an echinops. To what end? She still wasn't certain and had accepted she probably never would be. The man was dead. The creature was dead. She had been paid. None of it mattered anymore.

Sighing, she rinsed more foreign blood from the cloth, submerged it until it ran clear in the stream, then continued her ritual. She needed to move soon. Water had the nasty habit of indiscriminately attracting the thirsty. When she could no longer detect her own smell, she whipped the rag dry as best she could and made for the encampment in the glen. Its glow invited her through the thicket. Every step she took she minded for there was no knowing what patrolled this area of forest at night. She had no desire to find out when she was unarmed and unclothed. Were a nekkar or endrega to cross her, there would be very little she could do to stop it. The monsters could also move with a subtlety no man could possibly hope to emulate. But men she could handle. If one feigned to provide them pleasure, they had a knack for permitting a woman lethal proximity. She had taken advantage of this on more than one occasion. In this wood, this late, this deep, however, she doubted anything less than monstrous would find her. Still, her ears strained for any movement out of sync with her own. Now that her pupils had adjusted to the dark, the deadlight she followed was a beacon calling to anyone or anything with the acute eye to spy it. As she approached, she decided to move more cautiously, just in case someone apart from herself had accepted its invitation, though she doubted it under current conditions. Once she came within an approximate observing distance, she crept steadily through the brush until- she froze. There, standing with his back to her on the nearest side of the flames, stood a white-haired man in hunter's garb.

He moved through the unfamiliar space equally as carefully as she did. He was in the process of noting her belongings. Two swords were strapped to his back. One was iron, but one was forged of silver. She felt a rift opening deeper and deeper in her stomach. _That hair... That sword... it can't possibly... But I can't bloody see._ The ashen rear of his head was still bowed and faced her direction. Ensuring she made no sound, she progressed round the perimeter. His apparent physical youth betrayed his hair color. That meant... but she needed a better vantage point. Perhaps her eyes deceived her in the dark.

His tone of motion was exacting, purposeful. What did he want? Why was he here? Had he tracked her? A person such as he, with a silver sword such as that, would only appear under one very specific condition. Silently, she watched, taking care to shift only when he did. His head inclined toward her satchel and sword. He dipped his hand into the leather pouch and withdrew it empty. Nothing inside was worth pilfering. Some clothes, some empty potion bottles, the dregs of herb and other alchemical elements. Basic, unneccesary, undesirable. The most captivating thing of all seemed to be the corpse she had ignited. He analyzed it, prodding at it briefly with a stick before tossing the scrap of wood into the fire. When it didn't catch, he grunted knowingly and turned... When he did, she felt the sensation of her guts spilling from her insides. Something which was nothing less than monstrous had indeed found her. His amber irises could not be mistaken. He was a witcher. He was _the_ witcher. He was Geralt of Rivia.


	2. Chapter 1 Part 2

_Shit. Shit!_ His wide cat's pupils swept over and past her position in the weeds. They glinted like an animal's catching the light of a sconce. A single scar split his left eye from forehead to cheek. While he hadn't seen her, she still feared his ability to hear the rattling nerves in her breast. Quietly, she inhaled a slow breath, exhaling it just as slowly. _Steady._ It was then he spied the garments she had discarded.

"A sorceress… and a bloodied one at that. Lovely." He growled. The corner of his mouth twitched into a snarl as he lifted her vest by the only stainless patch he could find. He dropped it again, repulsed. A puff of dust rose and fell back into the foliage as it hit the ground. Geralt hissed a quick high whistle. A few yards from where she was now hiding, a tawny mare plodded into the glade. _If I had made it a few meters farther, she would have exposed me._

"What d'you think, Roach? Stay or no?" As if in response, the mare snorted loudly, "Mnh. Agreed." Geralt took the horse by the reins and led her as far away from the burning corpse as was possible while maintaining her in his field of vision, "You might not need that reeking heat, but I do." He patted her snout, returned alone to the fire with his back to the sorceress, took a seat, crossed his legs, closed his eyes, and sunk into a state of meditation. Her heart was now clanking uncontrollably. Now what? She had not anticipated this in the slightest. This witching hour hadn't given her cause to think she would, no- _could_ have human company. Her brains felt scrambled by the witcher's murderous reputation. Before she left the scene in town, she had been witnessed (by no less than ten bystanders) acting in clear self-defense. For all the residents knew, she was innocent of any crime. Which of her attackers was left alive to send this mercenary after her? Cursing her heedlessness, she stewed over her options. She could only just make out Geralt's shoulders moving rhythmically at the rate of his breath. The tightening and untightening of the seams of his jerkin reminded her naked limbs of the stinging cold. She wrung the filthy kerchief over and over and over in her hands, pressing her arms and legs closely to her center for warmth.

Leaving the encampment was a long shot. She was too deep in the forest with too many hours to go before dawn. Without a blade to defend herself and without rest after having wielded so much Chaos, the likelihood of her survival was low. And what would happen if she did make it through and waltzed into town with no clothes on? She didn't indulge her imagination. Confronting the witcher, the Butcher of Blaviken, seemed her only choice, but he had the advantage in the dark. In fact, he probably had the advantage no matter the time of day. A mutant such as he was stronger, faster, could see in almost complete blackness, and had experienced far more battles than she had. She was young for a mage, just shy of forty, though her body was that of a woman far younger.

"Hey!" She shouted with inferiority. Geralt started, leapt to his feet, and pirouetted to face her with his hand on the hilt of his iron blade.

"Hullo." He responded with surety. He browsed the glade concealing her, "Where are you, if you don't mind my asking? Hard to have a conversation with a tree."

"I'd prefer to remain hidden. I'm certain you're sharp enough to surmise why." She noticed his gaze flitting to the patch of grass where her garb lay, "I'd like to recruit your services, witcher. Could you do me a favor and toss me my satchel?" After a moment's consideration, he huffed a laugh. She frowned.

"Are you suggesting to me that you've wandered naked into the wood with no form of protection? Your blade is here. I'll admit to finding that decision strange, particularly this far from more civilized company." Geralt had begun to slowly advance. A nasty smile smeared his face. His fingers clutched impatiently at the hilt of his sword.

"I assure you I have no form of protection. If I had wanted to ambush you, I might've done so in the ten minutes I've been watching you raid my camp and take a nap." She lulled, monitoring his proximity closely.

"Raid is certainly a harsh word. I haven't taken anything. And no form of protection at all? Really? Like, I dunno, magic perhaps?" He gestured at the flaming body. His pace was gradually accelerating. The reality of her situation was setting in. He most certainly did not intend to do as she asked.

"Do use your head: I lit the corpse to stay warm. It's near freezing out! Again, would I not have already ambushed you if I could readily do so? Please, just—"

"Forgive me if I have trouble trusting the word of a sorceress murderer who won't show herself."

"What- murderer?" She could now hear the crunch of his boots. Fright pounded in her skull, "I've done nothing but protect myself." Her crouched feet had begun to instinctively lead her away from him. She might be able to muster an Aard, but no more than a modest one. Modesty would not be enough to stop a witcher.

"Again, I have doubts about whether or not you're being fully honest. I'm sure you're sharp enough to surmise why." His stare now hovered near the crinkling her feet made in the coppice. He had fully established her position, though she was still obscured by a veil of foliage. The moment she rose from the screen of leaves, she would have to run. She felt utterly powerless, a field mouse fleeing a panther. He loomed ever closer.

Just before Geralt's knees touched the thicket and unable to withhold her fear any longer, she spun around, sprang to her feet, and took off into the night. The witcher saw a sudden flash of movement a few feet away and drew his sword. The naked back of a woman's torso popped out from the bushes. He was so flummoxed by her state of dress that he simply stood, stupefied by the nudity, for a moment before taking off after her.

Each ran full tilt. Bramble slapped painfully against her skin as she sprinted, but the sound of Geralt's pursuit, mere feet away from her, motivated her to move quickly. Her near-frozen musculature was howling in opposition. _Fuck!_ Her hands stung as they funneled the impeding vegetation from her eyes. _If I can just—_ Something hit her like a wagon. The wind swept from her chest as she was tackled to the ground from behind, chin skidding in the mud. The weight of the witcher's body pressed her firmly into the tacky muck.

"This makes for more engaging conversation, eh? Let's have a chat." He snarled.


	3. Chapter 1 Part 3

**PART 3**

Everything was a blur. Wet dirt, kicking, writhing, the clatter of bones on rock, grappling, the cold, the warmth, the adrenaline. She dug her nails into the mud in an attempt to drag herself forward. The witcher was wrapped around her waist. Granules of damp sand which had clung to his arms when they fell ground raw red ruts into her skin. He moved aggressively up her rib cage. He was trying to contain her arms. If he succeeded, her chance to use even the weakest of spells would be gone. She swung her elbow back and pounded it over and over into the meat of his forearm.

The witcher cursed obscenely and changed strategies. He released her middle, sat upright astride the backs of her thighs, and used both hands to try and spin her to face him.

"_Yrden!_" She screamed. The boom of her voice reverberated in the dark. A bright red orb materialized at her fingertips.

"Oh, no you ruddy don't!" Said Geralt through clenched teeth. Using the flats of his shins, he propelled himself forward. Her jaw cracked shut from the force. The heft of his chest on her back compressed her farther into the stony bed. His head now even with hers, he powerfully snatched up her wrist and shook the trapping spell free from her control. It dissipated with a sharp hiss.

"Damn it- get… off!" She reached back and entwined the fingers of both hands in his white hair. Yanking as hard as she could while on her belly, she pried his face away from hers. His neck craned backward, but he fully ignored her action, instead seizing the opportunity to thread his arms beneath hers. Geralt shifted his hips back and hoisted her torso upward by the pits of her arms. The sorceress' spine contorted into an excruciating backward 'u'. She yelped and released him.

"Enough?" He growled between bursts of breath. She said nothing. Both sets of lungs heaved with exhaustion, "Well?"

She could feel the heat of his panting on the back of her neck. As she emerged from the fog of her frenzy, the mage gradually rediscovered that her supple flesh, coated in filth from the riverbed, was fully exposed. Redness swelled in her chilled cheeks.

"I… I… yes. I'm certain there's nothing I can say to convince you I don't intend to harm you or anyone else, but I don't. There are plenty of other spells I might've tried. I've no clothes, no weapon, and I'm magically spent. There's… just nothing. Please… don't." She could feel her lids growing hot. If she was going do die, this was not how she had envisioned it happening. Hunted down like a sick animal. Naked, freezing, dirty, and crushed. She waited for a blade to slip across the seam of her throat.

"I'm not here to kill you," His voice was filled with… was it pity? It was a complex melody in her ears, "You committed murder. I was told to bring you in, but I'm no killer. Monsters, certainly, but not people. You can come with me willingly or not, but you _are_ coming."

"I was assaulted while performing a job I was paid to do. I acted only to defend myself. Who told you otherwise? Who sent you after me?"

"A man named Mikolaj found me in the tavern," _Mikolai… of course,_ "But the carnage you wrought was clear the moment I arrived in town. You slaughtered those men, self-defense or not. It isn't my place to play judge. I'm just here to make sure you do face one for what you did." Neither spoke for a long beat. The sorceress could feel the hairs on her body bristling, the screwed up muscles in her back cramping.

"I'm nearly frozen. Can I please at least dress myself? Permit me that decency."

"I'll admit I'm hesitant to release you. Know that if you do run, I will catch you. I am under contract."

"Fine." She felt the strength in his grip relax. Her arms tingled with fresh bloodflow. Geralt let go abruptly and stepped back. Her palms hit the riverbed, catching her torso before it fell. She groaned. Glancing back at him, she saw he had turned away and was pulling his jerkin off over his messy head. The toned skin of his back was patterned with innumerable scars. He tossed the shirt to her. She caught it and pressed its warmth firmly to her chest.

"It's not clean, but it's better than nothing." Without another word, he started toward the camp.


End file.
